


Revolution, baby

by Lasertits



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy - All Media Types
Genre: Daddy Stakar, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, First Time, Freedom Feels, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Music will Save Us, Slave Collar, Slave Culture, Stakardu, Switching, Teen Yondu, pussy!yondu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lasertits/pseuds/Lasertits
Summary: When Stakar has freed him, they make him sit on a swivel stool in Medbay, while a mech they've commed up grunts and curses over his mag collar.It's 1972 on Terra, and Meredith Quill is in her girl room, doing her homework while listening to School's Out for the third time in a row. The TVs on downstairs, and it's another protest march.





	1. Chapter 1

 

When Stakar has freed him, they make him sit on a swivel stool in Medbay, while a mech they've commed up grunts and curses over his mag collar. It's 1972 on Terra, and Meredith Quill is in her girl room, doing her homework while listening to _School's Out_ for the third time in a row. The TVs on downstairs, and it's another protest march. In eight years, their son will be born.

Yondu can't read or write. He knows about cleaning Kree houses, which he did when he was little, about being a guinea pig for Kree scientists, which he did after that, about killing for his masters with an "improved" crest and yaka arrow, and that's it. He's all muscle despite not being fully grown yet. He's battle-scarred and branded and so starved his pouch lies glued to his abdominals, and he's still twitching a little from the cocktail of soldier pills, antibiotics, painkillers and adrenaline that the Kree inject you with pre-battle. Luckily, the psychotics wear off fast, else Stakar never could have brought him in alive. They have taped over his fresh translator implant wound, and he's trying not to scratch at it.

The mech spreads her greasy electro-sounds and flashing gizmos all over the pristine white surfaces. She smells like old sweat. Her hair stands up in a gelled halo, and it tickles him whenever she moves. She finishes disabling the shock-trap, designed to kill him if you tamper with the collar too much, and switches to something which makes the piercing whine of a dental drill.

He suffers all of this with bland equanimity. Doesn't even flinch when she slips and cuts him, just looks at her with mild interest when she actually apologizes.

And then it comes off, for the first time since he was a toddler.

It's not the same collar, of course. The child models are as thin as his finger, because there's no sense in wasting metal. But he's had this one for years. They had to expand it a few times as he bulked up, and it got so tight it made him dizzy and useless. It's a constant pressure around his throat, and the weight of it has calloused his collarbones, the sensitive skin where neck meets shoulders, and the knobs of his Tahlei spine stumps.

He looks down at where it lies in pieces on the table, wires exposed and dead. It feels like his neck is a fragile stalk that can't possibly support his head.

He punches the mech in the face, and chaos ensues.

  
Stakar gives him a scarf. It's made of some smooth, cool material that feels like water. It doesn't chafe or electrocute him. He can tie it loose if he wants to, or take it off at night. He wears it until it's a frayed mess, and then he goes without.

  
His first kill as a free man is another pirate. They're boarding a fat vessel called the _Merciless_ , according to its call sign. It's chugging along on its way back from Kree space, digital coffers full and hold empty of cargo. They're not Ravagers, but jacks-of-all trades, mostly slavers, because the Empire has deep pockets and is ever hungry, as it uses up its slaves fast. It's slow but heavily gunned, yet still no match for Stakar.

A lucky shot drops the Captain right away, xir face a smoking crater from a plasma bolt. Then they flow in through the breached hull, and the slaughter begins. The Kree didn't make him for fighting in close quarters, though. He's still liable to lose control of the arrow when things get too chaotic in a cramped space. Not that they cared about a little collateral, not with a slave brigade, but he won't kill another Ravager. So he's brought knives and plasma pistols, and he buries his knife in a victim right away.

The man is sallow-skinned and black-bearded, older than Stakar. Yondu pretends he's had this career long, that he once ferried a little blue baby. He twists his wrist sharply, and the man clutches at him and coughs blood all over his leathers.

After that, it's two women and another man, and then they break through into the large, open space at the centre of the ship, and he whistles.

"You did well today", Stakar says gruffly. "Some impressive weapon you got there, kid". They're all back on ship. The carcass of the _Merciless_ rotates slowly behind them, in a cloud of bodies and its own parts. Stakar's unhooking pistols from his belt, examining them briefly before putting them aside on a table with a heavy thunk.

"Me and Martinex, were going on a little solo mission in a month. Negotiating. I'm thinking we could bring you along. What do you say?"

The others are also disarming and removing whatever custom armour they may have. The small room stinks of sweat and iron. Yondu's smeared in blood, and there's meaty splatter all over his left side because some weapons enthusiast, ie a trigger happy Badoon who's definitely compensating, shot an enemy point blank with an ion cannon. He wipes the gore off his face and grins up at Stakar.

  
He's elbow deep in a nav hologram, and when he splays his fingers, the stars become bright white lines. Any small movement of his makes the entire starscape whirl and tilt crazily. His other hand is off to the side, controlling speed and thruster direction. It's amazing. He feels like he's blasted right through his awkward teens into Godhood. It's just a training simulation, but still.  
  
" _We will rise, we will rise, dawn is coming, we will rise_ ", he hums, " _we must get us to the river, dry our tears and rise_ "

It's the longest of the slave songs, and it doesn't make a lick of sense for all its hundred or so verses. But the upbeat chorus gives you hope, he supposes, even if it's a false one. Because the Empire has stood for centuries, and it will still be there long after he is gone, grinding people into meat and then to bone dust. You rise against it, you get tortured to death and everybody has to watch, and all that changes is you're gone. Ain't no difference to the Empire either if a little slave escapes, it'll just fill the empty shackles with a new one.

That little dot there, that's Pama, and if he'd zoom in he'd see Hala, and if he'd zoom in more he might see the poor fucker that's taken his place in Battle Squadron 2102-Red.

And yet. Lookit him. He's flying.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Stakar has a nice, broad back. Strong arms. Tapered waist, nice legs. Ass is not bad, either. Martinex catches him looking, next mission they bring him along as muscle..well, arrow. "Maybe you should tell 'im", he says. Yondu thinks he's smirking.

"Dunno what you're talkin' 'bout". He tries to look casual. It doesn't go very well. Damn blushing, lucky he's dark already.

"Hm. Ain't subtle to anyone but Cap'n, kiddo. Just tell 'im and be done with it. All this, oh, _rampant sexual tension_ ", and he relishes the words like they're his actual-rock candies, the bastard, "is messin' with my crystal energies."

"Go polish your head, glitzy"

"Aw you're cute when you're embarrassed, hun. You go all deep navy. It's like the ocean on Cerna at night. 'S calming."

"'Fuck yerself"

"You two bickering again? What's it this time?"

Martinex raises his eyebrows.. probably.. and looks at Yondu. Nods towards Stakar. "Yondu's got somet.."

"Nu-uh! Nuthin'!" pipes Yondu, and shakes his head sharply to Martinex as soon as Stakar's back is turned.

"Need I remind you we need to be professional here? Because we're actual professionals? Save it for later. Martinex, behind me. Yondu, keep that arrow ready", and Stakar makes a "forward" gesture with two fingers.

  
The markets on Knowhere are part chaotic yard sale, part open drug dealing ground, part weapons exposition and betting ring. You can find absolutely anything here if you are lucky.

Junior Nav Yondu Udonta is poking through the trash, ignoring the chatter of the Xandarian who owns the booth. The woman blinks too often, and she has obvious Tal sores around her mouth. Priceless vintage tech, his blue ass. He's waiting for a contact, who'll hopefully have the holomaps they need.

He looks at the kink tech, and freezes.

"An excellent choice, Sir, an _excellent_ choice!! Genuine Kree technology, _two_ _hundred_ years old, still active! Special price for Ravagers, a _unique_ opportunity! Not many original slave collars on the market!"

It looks exactly the same as the one that's now a trashsteroid in the Pama system. Some pervert is going to buy it, maybe put it on a whore and enact their little slave rape fantasy. He turns sharply and walks away. It's that or put his arrow through a bulging eye, and he's trying not to attract attention.

" _Change of plan. Meet me by the Bone Kiln_ ", he types to the contact over a stealth channel.

  
"What a _pleasure_ to meet you again!! It is truly a _delight_ to meet a customer of such _discerning_ _taste_!! I have good news for you, my friend, it is _still_ _here_! But I urge you to _hurry_ , because Kree technology is in high demand, and a specimen like this is _highly_ sought after!"

She looks like she wants to shake Yondu's hand. He glares at her until her greasy smile droops slightly.

That fucking collar is still there. A few other items are gone, others are newly added. It's all genuine torture tech and tools for permanent body modification. None of it looks made for the fetish market, it's all the worn down, well used real deal. The price tags certainly reflect it.

"Can I see it?" he says, and the seller shows all her teeth.

  
It draws his attention to itself like a black hole eating plasma off a star. It radiates through his inner coat pocket all the way home, and then it lies there, behind a panel in his new quarters, as far in as he could throw it, and waits in the darkness. He can feel it everywhere he goes on the ship. It watches over him when he sleeps and messes up his dreams.

He'd throw it out the airlock, but then he'd probably start fearing space.

So he gets up from his mattress where he's just sitting staring at the panel like an idiot, and he stomps over and rips it open, holds the thing in a minimal pincer grip like it's scalding, and turns to the long sliver of mirror-plast by his bed.

That there, that's him now. He's grown a little taller, but not much. He's put on weight and lost muscle mass, and thick black tattoos are starting to crawl up his arms and down his torso. There are gold hoops in his ears, a barbell through one nipple and two small rings in his pouch line. The zipper of his filthy jumpsuit is pulled down to his solar plexus, showing off hairless skin and a mess of shiny necklaces.

He's adopted the insolent slouch and swagger of the older Ravagers, as well as their Pidgin drawl instead of stilted Kree (only Stakar speaks Pidgin like a Xandar middle class-er slumming it). It's not a slave body anymore. The Kree would never stand for all of this.

He leers at the mirror, makes his posture just that more irritating to, say, someone who values order, control and neat rows of battle slaves standing to attention.

Then he raises the collar, and it snicks closed like a trap. It can't lock or electrocute him, he's tested, but he still jumps at the sound. But it's too loose on him, this one. Looks right ridiculous atop the necklaces. He turns and twists, studies himself. Nah. He's all Ravager. Pretty damn hot one. Those narrow, mocking eyes, with insecurity behind them too, ain't dulled slave eyes, either. No piece of tech can change that.

It's lost some of its sucking pull, when he puts it back in its resting place.

  
He ends up showing it to Stakar. They're a little drunk, Yondu most. You can hear the bass beat and the shouting right through the ship. Job's gone well, and even Stakar's grim face is softened by a smile.

They'll be at Contraxia next cycle. There'll be Peach's Pleasure Palace if you want the real, pricy "sensual experience" (they even read you poetry and do your nails). There'll be the Lotus if you don't, and the rest of it if you're a penniless jun. Nav like he. He'll probably lose his virginity to a worn down booth bot, but he's still looking forward to it. Slavery leaves you too hungry and exhausted for sex, mostly, so all he's done is traded a few quick fumbles. Unless you count that time, the old noble.. but no you don't. Ain't sex, that kind of thing. And now, well, he's been so busy owning everything else that sex has taken a backseat. Doesn't mean he don't burn for it, though. Maybe he'll get a bot to do him proper, unless..

Stakar doesn't ask where he got the collar, or say he's sick for buying it. He just turns it over in his broad hands, examines the glistening shock coils on the inside, the dull metal with edges the Kree couldn't be bothered to soften, not for a slave's comfort.

"This is older than the one we cut off of you", he says. "Wasn't no way to open that one but drilling. Tekla said it was a bitch to remove without killing you. Heh. She near broke your nose after you punched her, remember? You two idiots trashed my Medbay."

"Yeah. Sorry 'bout that".

Stakar huffs a laugh.

"It. It's been codebroken." For some reason he's nervous. The collar's kind of his dirty secret.

"Answers to any bio sign now. Can't shock 'less you reprogram that. Here, try it!" He takes Stakars finger awkwardly and presses it to the pad, and the collar opens. Stakar raises an eyebrow at him, and Yondu blushes. He's standing too close to his Captain, all but holding hands over a revolting old slave shackle.

"It's too big for me, though" he blurts out.

"Is that so."

"Yeah. I. "And he takes it, fumbles with the lock in his haste, bends and closes it around his neck. Stands there in stiff-backed bravado. "Look. Too big. "

Stakar looks him over, tattoos and jewellery, last remnants of teenage gawkiness and all.

"You're a brave one, son. But can't say that that one's your style."

And Stakar runs a finger down it, right above Yondu's hammering pulse. Yondu, sensing his chance, surges forward too fast and presses a clumsy kiss on his mouth, clacking their teeth together painfully.

"Ow"

"Fuck", he says, mortified. This ain't going well, and he who's practised in his head for months, even if he never thought he'd actually get there. He was gonna be suave, show Stakar he's a man now.

 


	3. Chapter 3

  
Stakar licks his bruised lip thoughtfully.

"Don't worry 'bout it. Only one way to get better. "

He leans in and kisses Yondu, slow and possessive. And that..well that's something, is what it is. Not his first kiss by far (as he said, he's hot, and Ravagers are a physically demonstrative bunch), but he's not had it like this. Stakar leads, and expects him to learn and copy. It's kind of like when he taught Yondu to fly an M-ship, far out in the blackness beyond the XE-110 asteroid belt, where he couldn't possibly hit anything.

The hand kneading the back of Yondu's neck makes for the biolock.

"Nu-uh. Wanna keep it on. To hell with 'em."

"I see", says Stakar, right against his mouth. "What do you need, hm? Want me to _fuck_ you? Other way 'round?"

"Uhm. That. Oh, oh fuck. Anything, please. _Stakar_ , fuck." Because there's a warm hand between his legs all of a sudden, fingers crooked and pressing up. Stakar must know, somehow, what he's packing, that index finger is all but breaching him right through his jumpsuit. Yondu can only clutch at him and hold on. Stakar eats the moaning straight from his lips, grunting a little with effort as he rubs and presses.

"Need t' lie down", Yondu gasps. "Gon' fall. Faint. Stak.."

It's vestigal, far as he knows, like the nipples on his pecs, and too damn tight for him to fit anything thicker than a finger or two. But it clearly hasn't gotten the memo, because it's dripping with the need to take Stakar's not inconsiderable cock. Greedy lil' thing, not unlike the rest of him.

Well it'll just have to wait. Because Stakar's undressed, revealing a hairy, thickly muscled body that makes Yondu's mouth go dry, and he's peeled a shivering Yondu out of his jumpsuit with casual ease, as if he unwraps nervous first-timers daily.

Stakar lies back on the bed, on his elbows with his legs spread. He crooks one finger imperviously, until Yondu crawls up, all clacking teeth and horniness and flop sweat.  
"Hey" Stakar says, stroking his face, his shoulders and his heaving flanks. Kisses him again. "Still with me? Or wanna back out, cool down a bit?"

"Nuh."

"That's good. You're doin' great, son. Thinkin' you'll fuck me first. Sounds good?"

"Uh. "

That a yes?

"Hell yeah. Yessir."

  
They're kissing again, when Stakar starts losing momentum, falling back to let Yondu lead. Stakar's arm mucles are bunching against Yondu's belly, and he looks down in confusion to see him preparing himself.

" _Supremor, fuck_ " he says in Kree.

He feels dazed and punch-drunk. His cock, ridning against Stakar's wiry, hairy underarm, is so hard it hurts. His top nipples and the nubs inside his virgin pouch are peaked, aching, and his mouth feels swollen. Stakar's knuckles brush against his little cunt, makes it smear them with slick. He drops his head onto Stakars broad shoulder. His skin here smells amazing, sweat and musk and dirt and sex. He barely notices that Stakars hooked his collar, not until he's pulled back. He stares into Stakars half-lidded, dark eyes, and he think he, himself, must look as shocked as he feels.

"Wanna watch you take me", Stakar says, and turns his hand to stroke Yondu, palm up, in one slick pull and descent that makes him cry out and twitch his hips. He's about to come right now, he's all molten inside. He has to come.

So Stakar, the sadist, removes his hand and instead kneads Yondu's asscheek, pulling him open a bit. Kisses him slow and sweet, until Yondus frantic, begging ones have slowed down, too.

  
"No, keep your eyes open, keep your..fuck.." Stakar's saying, but its impossible. They slip shut, and his eyes roll back in the warm blue darkness behind the lids. He turns his head to the side, finds Stakars broad thumb and gasps around it. His hips buck of their own accord, and Stakar does this shocked little moan that really doesn't help at all, not when Yondu's trying not to embarrass himself here. His necklaces are a tangled mess, tinking and clattering against Stakar's chest when he moves.

 

"Deeper", Stakar says. He's holding him by collar and hip, controlling the pace. "Slow. Mm, that's good. Like that. Think about, ha, nav calculus. What's the, the Pareen equation?"

Yondu laughs, despite himself. "Ain't..ah..that good at multitaskin'. Cap'n. "

"Stakar. Just that."

"Stakar. Aw shit, can't do it. Need to.."

"Yeah ok, do it. Want it rough now. Hard as you can. Come in me. "

  
"You didn't.." he says, mortified.

Stakar grins filthily, licks into his mouth.  
"No, but I will. On your side. Back against me, spooning. No wait, all fours first. Gonna eat your ass a bit, ever had that?"

"Oh fuck. Please"

"You'll love it. Spread yourself, show me where you want me."

  
Stakar, when he's topping, is a constant onslaught of filth, ear-licking and biting while he fucks Yondu. He has no problem multitasking. They're spooning, like he promised, Yondu with one leg pushed up and his fingers tangled in Stakars sweaty hair. It must hurt, hairy species are sensitive there, but Stakar doesn't seem to mind.  
"You get..so slick when I fuck you hard, like, ah, this", he gasps, hips slapping against Yondu's ass and index finger deep in his pussy from the front. "Think I can fit another finger in your little cunt? Want that?"

Yondu can't find breath enough to speak, but he spreads his legs. The insides of his thighs are soaked. Stakar pulls out of his cunt, pushes back in with long and ring finger pressed tightly together. It's only the first knuckles, but it's too much. He doesn't realize he's keening until Stakar shushes him.

"Ssh, there. It's ok. Relax for me, you can take them. Gonna feel so good, I promise you." He's rolling his hips languidly now, fucking Yondus ass slow and relentless. "Fuck, you're beautiful. Love feeling you around my cock and fingers. Wanna eat your pussy too. Have you ride my face. C'mon, open for me."

And he does. Stakar's rough fingers slip inside him, twist and crook and drag against his frontal wall. His thumb's mashing Yondu's slippery little clit and his calloused palm cups his balls. The soft inside of Stakar's underarm is brushing maddeningly against Yondu's cock, giving no relief.  
  
"Hey, relax your legs again. Like that, yeah. Tilt your hips back into me. Fuck that's good. Unh. You're taking me so well. So deep. Gonna give it to you now. "

  
"Have to touch myself. Need'ta. Stakar."

"Allright. But just the tip of your cock. One finger, rub slow. Other hand your little pierced tit. Yeah be mean to it. Good boy. Fuck. Think you can come like that for me?"

Turns out he can. It builds from inside him, this time, sweetness and heat and pressure that grows until he drowns in it, until it's in his very teeth and he's trashing to escape it. And then it breaks, and he is gone.

He dimly registers when Stakar turns him onto his stomach, drags his hips up, fucks him with a hand fisted in his collar. Aftershocks of pleasure are sizzling up and down his spine, like slower, secondary orgasms. He pushes back weakly until Stakar fills him.

  
When he wakes, they're in orbit around Contraxia. He's drooled all over Stakar's arm, and the rest of them ain't too clean either. The collar's cutting into his uncalloused skin. He clicks the biolock open and throws it under the bed, gets up on unsteady legs and looks out the porthole window.

He has never seen anything like it. The whole planet is glittering with lights, if dimly through a veil of clouds. There's whoops and hollers in the corridors, and the sound of people running about. He presses his nose to the glass like the child he wasn't.

It's his. This tarnished bauble in the sky before them, the dirty ship full of thieves and murderers, the complete freedom. He's a fucking Ravager, and he'll rob the Galaxy and fly forever.

"Go on", says Stakar. "I'll be right behind you."

 

  
There's a song they sing on Hala. It's in Kree, because for most of them, that's all they speak. It's got more verses than a squadron chain has links, and not one person knows them all. But if one starts up, another joins in, and in the end, they collectively remember.

If they were scholars, if they could even read, they would know that some of these verses are older than the Empire, and the Rhuyk Confederation that burned before it, and the Issaze Queendom that perished in a civil war before that, and further back still, until not even a Xandar historian would know what it talks about. That it has been all over Andromeda, all over the Milky Way, and that there are fewer slaves for every century it lives. The Kree punish anyone caught singing it, and have been known to purge whole pens with fire, as if it were the Plague.

But you can't kill a song. It goes everywhere, even the Kree catch themselves humming that catchy little tune. It gets in your ear and moves to your tongue and soon you, too, have passed it on to another.

And every single slave, from the painted concubines up high to the mine-crawlers below, from the little children to the battle slaves in their prime, to the worn out cleaners that come out at night, to those dying in the torture garden, know the melody and can sing at least a few lines. And coded into the newer verses of the song are instructions; on where the weak points of this Empire are, and how they will exploit them when the time is right.

It's not finished, there's one or two verses more to go. But they're almost there, and when they're done, the ground will quake. It's name is We Will Rise, and it will be the end of these masters, too.

 

\-----

Stakar, you dirty-talking horndog. What the hell. I bet Yondu gets a new collar soon, blue leather with the Ravager flame.

Yondu is comix canon marsupial, tattoed and bling-ed. The rest is fanon booty robbed from Write_Like_An_American. Cause pussy Y is a thing of beauty and a joy for ever, and vags for everyone because they're awesome.

Oh and code songs? They were real, and they were used to rescue people from slavery in the US. "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot" is one, it says the Underground Railroad is coming to save you. Americans, you have some frickin' cool pieces of history. 

 


End file.
